


Pater

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen insisted that nobody KNEW how to be a father, but he was sure as shit that that was a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pater

Gwen insisted that nobody KNEW how to be a father, but he was sure as shit that that was a lie. He’d known, the first time he’d seriously considered whether he and Gwen might actually work together, that she was a package deal, that there were three small children already trying to find their footing in the wreckage of her marriage. He’d tried cautious and he’d tried testing the waters and he’d even tried backing off at one point. Then they’d come up for air from what Adam would probably deem a month-long fuckfest, and made the frankly terrifying decision to start dating, changing things completely.

Dating a family instead of just a woman was a new experience and one as fulfilling as it was scary. There was _responsibility_ , and while he’d never shirked his duties, knowing that the things he said, the things he did, had a very real effect on the boys sometimes got overwhelming. He’d learned to be more careful tweeting, to further decrease the amount he drank, even to sleep with pants on (because Apollo was at a stage where he could clamber into the bed during the night and enjoyed doing so).

 

Fingers suddenly yanked at his hair and his head thumped against the back of the sofa. Christ almighty. Emitting a small growl, he turned around quickly enough to grab Zuma by his collar. Gently, but not _too_ gently, was his rule of thumb; all the boys enjoyed roughhousing and he was only too happy to oblige. There had been times during both his marriages where he’d imagined what it might be like to have a son but it was always very abstract, a stray thought of ‘I hope I can teach him to fish’ here, spending a moment wondering if he might like football or baseball more there. The reality was different in some ways but satisfying, nevertheless.

“Were you lookin’ to get hurt, buddy, were ya?” he said, still keeping a hold on the boy’s shirt. “Cos I got a hankering to do some hurting…”

Zuma poked his tongue out and squirmed out of Blake’s grip. Tricky, slippery bugger. “You can’t even catch me!” and that was the cue. Sometimes people asked him how he’d managed to lose weight. Divorce was the easy and real actual answer, but how he KEPT the weight off? Spending time with Gwen’s family accomplished that more than sufficiently. “C’monnnn, Blake,” he whined as he darted around the coffee table. “You’re sooooo slow.”

Blake took a few giant steps towards Zuma, making sure to stomp extra loudly. “I’m gonna crush you so hard, brat. Better hide.” With a squeal, the seven-year-old was off, skidding through the hallway in his obnoxiously bright sneakers and heading straight for the backdoor.

 

Ten minutes later and breathing heavily, the aging (it felt like a year every minute lately…) singer flopped onto his back on the grass, holding his chest with one hand and raising the other in surrender.

“I give in, I give in! Mercy!” he groaned, wincing as Zuma’s soccer boot planted itself in his stomach.

“Swear it! Do the swear!”

“I solemnly swear,” he began, trying to keep from smiling when he saw Gwen coming outside to check on them. “I swear that I’m old and fat and slow. And that you’re the best.”

“I AM the best!” Zuma crowed, finally lifting his foot and giving his best attempt at a battle-cry instead. “Mom!” he called, running over to Gwen. “Look!”

Running her fingers through Zuma’s hair in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it, she grinned at her son. “I saw. Should we just leave the old man there to die or should we help him out, do you think?”

And then he was being yanked upright, almost pulling his arms out of their sockets in the process. Wrapping an arm around his girlfriend and resting his head on her shoulder, Blake sighed melodramatically. “Honestly, you should’ve put me out of my misery; your son did a number on me. Where’s the shotgun?”

“Back in Oklahoma, I suspect. Where it should be.”

“You’re going to hate me when one of them begs me to take ‘em hunting, aren’t ya?” Gwen glared at him, her eyes narrowing, leaving him unable stop the snort of laughter escaping. “You’re welcome to tag along…” The punch to the shoulder was both energetic and expected.

“I’m going to be the grown-up in this relationship and ignore that.”

“By telling me that you’re ignoring it? You be the grown-up and I’ll be the brains, I guess,” he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

And there went the kick to the shins. “I’ll settle for being both, cowboy.”

 

The rest of the afternoon was predictable in its unpredictability. After the third time Apollo tripped over Betty – triggering tears for at least ten minutes – Blake was tempted to go and lock himself in one of the spare bedrooms just to have a second or two of peace. He loved the boys, he did, but god alive, they were loud...

 

* * *

 

“Did you want kids one day?” Kingston asked him abruptly while passing the potatoes over to his mother. It was said casually, an afterthought, but Blake knew better. Gwen’s oldest son had been the hardest to win ever and there was still a long ways to go, he was pretty sure. They’d had a couple of conversations lately and it was disconcerting, realizing how grown-up and perceptive a nine-year-old kid could be.

“Uh, yeah, I did, buddy. Didn’t really work out, though, you know, before.” Zuma looked curious now, too, was watching him far too intently. “I guess it wasn’t the right time.”

“But you were with your wife for _ages_ , you told me. You couldn’t have been that busy. Mom had us and she did music and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

And wasn’t that exactly what he’d said to Miranda? Often at first and then, nearer the end, not at all. It hadn’t been worth the stammered apologies and the guilt-trips and the way she turned her back on him in bed…

“That’s enough, King,” Gwen said quietly and he ducked his head and stabbed his carrots and peas violently. Blake wanted to say it was okay, that he was happy to talk about it, but it wasn’t his place, not yet. As much as it sometimes felt like it (he’d gone grocery shopping with the boys alone for the first time last week, which had been an _experience_ ), he wasn’t their father or even their stepfather, and so he tried to keep back unless asked to step forward.

“Blake?” Zuma piped up from the other side of the table. “We’re pretty great, though? We’re better than babies cos they just cry and we’re definitely better than girls. They probably wouldn’t want to go fishing and stuff with you, and I can’t _wait_ to try it.”

“If I’d had kids,” he said, making sure to catch Kingston’s eye as well because he was pretty sure he was the one who needed to hear it most. “If I’d had kids, I could only wish they’d be as awesome as y’all.”

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure what had woken him up at first. Gwen’s bedroom was quiet, still, and he could feel her soft steady breathing against his bare chest where she was curled up into him. Squinting at his phone, he finally ascertained it was still only about three am. Why the hell was he even awake? Shifting slightly so his legs could stretch out better, he nearly cursed out loud when he noticed the door was ajar. He felt around the bed for Apollo (sometimes he just crawled in and buried himself under the covers) and came up with nothing. So the visitor had apparently left.

Gwen make a soft ‘mmm’ of disapproval when he climbed out of bed. After tucking her back in and pressing a kiss to her forehead, he pulled a shirt over his head and made his way into the hall, wiping the sleep from the eyes as he did so. So bleary, so tired.

 

After checking on Apollo (blankets thrown off and bum in the air) and Zuma (holding a light saber like it was a teddy), he finally made it to Kingston’s room. And there the answer was. The boy was sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes with one hand and clutching one of his Goosebumps books in the other.

“Can’t sleep?” he said, staying at the door just in case his company wasn’t wanted.

“No, not really,” was the monotone reply. “Blake,” he continued hesitantly. “You’re not going to have a kid with Mom, are you?”

The worry on Kingston’s face made him want to just hug the kid, reassure him, make everything okay, but he knew it probably wouldn’t be welcome. He gestured towards the bed. “Okay if I sit?”

“Sure. I – I saw some magazines yesterday, y’know. And I know Mom says they’re trash and gossip and never to believe them, but - ”

“Buddy, there’s absolutely no way me and your Mom would make a big decision like that without talking to you guys first. ‘sides, you’re still getting used to everything, right? We’re not rushing anything here. We’re not having a kid, we’re not getting married, and I still live somewhere else. I know it’s not been the easiest thing in the world, all of this.”

“I like you,” Kingston said firmly, the only thing indicating his conflict the way his fingers were tightly wound in the sheets. “I do.”

“And I like you.” Blake made himself a little more comfortable on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Have I told you about my family yet?” A shake of the head. “My parents got divorced when I was a teenager. It was weird at first, living in two places, having two routines, the way everything just changed overnight. And then they start dating, they get married, and you’re thrown into a whole new family, you know. That’s weird too.”

“Did you miss how it was before?”

“Oh, of course,” he said with feeling. “Of course I did. But eventually I got used to it and I realized that everyone was happier now. Mom smiled more and Dad smiled more and having all that extra family was great when it was time for Christmas and birthdays, y’know.” He bumped his shoulder into Kingston’s, smiled gently when he got a short laugh in response. “I want to make your Mom happy.”

 

“Apollo was asking for you the other night…”

“Asking for me?”

“At bedtime. Wondering where you were. You’re not his dad, y’know, but he’s only little and what if he gets confused and - ”

“You know what, Kingston?” he asked, observing the wariness, the carefulness in the young boy. “You’re a great big brother to worry. That’s not a bad thing. But I’m not trying to replace anyone and Apollo knows who his daddy is. I’m just Blake and maybe one day I’ll officially be something more if I can convince your Mom to put up with me, but I’ll still be just Blake, y’know.”

“I think I’m ready for sleep now,” Kingston said, turning his back to the musician, ending the conversation. “You’ll make breakfast?” A peace offering.

“Of course. I’ll even try not to burn the pancakes this time,” he joked, wondering if he’d gone too far, if he’d stated his intentions too boldly. He’d probably need to talk to Gwen about it in the morning. With Miranda, they’d never had ‘talks’, discussions about where the relationship was, where it was going, how to correct its path. With Gwen? There was far more on the line and they were trying so damned hard not to put a foot wrong. It was sometimes uncomfortable and sometimes tense, but the result was always worth it.

“Blake?” came the little voice again, muffled this time but sincere. “Thanks for making Mommy happy.”

 

Maybe he wasn’t a father, he thought as he got back into bed, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend and holding her close. Maybe he wasn’t a father, maybe he’d never be one, but he could _act_ like one. The boys deserved to be loved and cared for and to be happy.

And maybe he did too.


End file.
